On my birthday last week, Jeff and I met up after work at Brooklyn Bridge Park and spread a picnic blanket on a nice little patch of grass with a view of the Statue of Liberty, the Brooklyn Bridge, the Empire State Building and the Chrysler Building. But that’s not why I love New York.
They were screening Rocky one lawn over, and as the moviegoers waited for dark to fall, several men appeared wheeling large cylinders with what looked like spigots at the top. “Are those kegs?” I asked Jeff. “No, those are huge telescopes,” he said, at which point I lost my shit. They set up the stargazing party right in front of where we were sitting. By the end of the night we had each glimpsed Saturn’s rings while listening to Rocky flirt his way through the pet shop. But that’s not why I love New York.
After we ate, Jeff pulled out a cupcake with sprinkles and a candle, at which point a little girl (about six-years-old?) on a neighboring picnic blanket called out to us and asked whose birthday it was. I told her it was my birthday. Jeff got the candle to light, but refused to sing by himself in public. “Just make a wish,” he said. “You have to sing,” I said. And that’s when the little girl started to sing with gusto. Jeff joined her, and they sang together right up to the point in the song where the girl realized she didn’t know my name, so Jeff turned and told her, then they carried on to the end. And I made my wish.
That’s why I love New York.